


His body, broken and beautiful

by elennalore



Series: Second Chances [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angband, Angst, Enemies to Friends, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Forgiveness, Gen, M/M, Minor Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon, Minor Violence, Poor Maedhros, Post-Canon, Redemption, Second Chances, fourth age valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28936929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elennalore/pseuds/elennalore
Summary: A tall elf with a copper-red hair comes to meet Mairon. No, not that elf. When Nerdanel wants to make a sculpture of Mairon, an unusual alliance is formed. But memories of another red-headed elf from the past keep haunting Mairon. Can it only end in disaster?
Relationships: Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Sauron | Mairon, Maedhros | Maitimo & Sauron | Mairon, Maedhros | Maitimo/Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Nerdanel & Sauron | Mairon
Series: Second Chances [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086146
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that the high rating and the archive warnings are meant for the backstory scene in chapter two. The first chapter doesn't have any warnings, and the fic can be read so that the non-con part can be omitted if you don't want to read it. I will mark it clearly in the next chapter.
> 
> This fic continues Mairon's story in the Second Chances story arc.

“You have a visitor.”

Curumo is standing in the doorway, fidgeting nervously.

“A visitor?” That’s new. No one has visited Mairon since he came to live in Aulë’s mansion. Should he be worried? Prepare for an attack? “Who is it?” he asks Curumo.

“An elf.” The boy-Maia runs away before Mairon dares to ask more. _What if it is Celebrimbor?_

He takes a quick look in the mirror before going downstairs. He combs his hair and changes some of his ear jewellery, just in case. There’s no time to change the work clothes he’s wearing, but he can hide them under a stylish coat Aulë has given him.

_What if it really is Tyelpë?_

But when he enters Aulë’s cosy living room and sees the top of a copper red hair rising from the back of an armchair, he freezes. Only one elf has a hair like that and he shouldn’t be here. He should be dead, actually, but perhaps Mandos has surprised them all and let him free.

Mairon is about to turn around and leave because he really doesn’t want to meet that particular elf, but Aulë’s voice stops him. “Oh, there he is.”

Mairon’s pride doesn’t allow him to flee now that he is spotted. Aulë who has occupied the other armchair beckons Mairon to come and join them. Reluctantly, he walks closer to the fireplace. It has a fire burning inside, which is good. He doesn’t have any weapon with him, he isn’t allowed to carry such things, but he can command the fire. He prepares for an attack that must come soon. The back of the armchair hides the elf’s face from view until Mairon comes to stand beside them.

It’s not Nelyafinwë.

“Mairon, this is Nerdanel Mahtaniel. And this, naturally, is Maia Mairon,” Aulë adds, turning to speak to Nerdanel as if meetings like this were quite commonplace. 

Mairon realizes he’s still clenching his fists; he forces them to open. Nerdanel fascinates him against his own will. The strong likeness to her eldest son is astonishing. Her eyes look like Nelyafinwë’s, just like her strong chin does. She’s taller than many and her hair is strikingly similar colour to Nelyafinwë’s, but there are slight differences now that he has time to further study her countenance. Her short hair is a little more brownish and wavier, he notices. He can’t understand why she has cut her hair short. He fights an impulse to touch it to learn more about its texture. Does it feel similar, too?

“I have wanted to meet you,” Nerdanel says soberly. Her voice is different, and that, more than anything else, helps Mairon to return to the present time. He pulls his wavering hand away before he manages to startle everyone by sinking his fingers into her hair.

“Well, you have found me,” he finds himself saying. The flames in the fireplace react to the strange emotions he’s currently feeling, and grow bigger as he speaks. If Aulë notices what’s happening there, he declines to comment.

“Please sit down, Mairon,” Aulë only says, and after a moment’s hesitation Mairon obeys. There’s a wooden chair next to the pair of massive armchairs, that will do.

He is ready for harsh accusations, or a crying scene, perhaps even a punch in the face, but Nerdanel manages to surprise him.

“I want to make a sculpture of you,” she simply announces.

* * * * *

Next week, Mairon stands in front of a big wooden door in Aulë’s mansion, feeling that nothing good can await him beyond that door. He should have refused when Nerdanel made that absurd suggestion. Was it even a suggestion, or more like an order? What does she want from him except his mostly flawless body to pose for her artistic needs? This must be some elaborate Fëanorian scheme to seek revenge for what he did to Nelyafinwë and Tyelpë. Why does Aulë let it happen? But the truth is, he’s been rather bored lately, and there’s something about Nerdanel that intrigues him. 

The wooden door opens before Mairon manages to decide if he should stay or leave.

“There you are!” Nerdanel gives him a triumphant smile and ushers him into the room. It’s one of those rooms where he hasn’t been before. Aulë’s mansion is large, after all, and Mairon hasn’t wanted to wander needlessly around and disturb others. This room is big and full of light. There are huge windows with thin white hanging curtains that provide privacy without darkening the room. There’s even a skylight. In the middle of the room there is a big block of marble next to a table with tools for drawing and sculpture; that’s Nerdanel’s workspace.

As he looks around, he notices a platform with a marble column and a simple wooden chair. Some kind of folded robe is put on the chair. That’s clearly the place where he’s supposed to sit, or stand, or whatever Nerdanel wants him to do.

Mairon doesn’t go there just yet, because there’s someone else in the room, and he senses such a hostility from him that it makes his skin prickle. He’s one of Aulë’s Maiar; once Mairon has known his name, but he has forgotten it. He’s of strong build and bearded like Aulë, and he stands looking at Mairon with arms akimbo.

“What is he doing here?” Mairon asks Nerdanel, annoyed. “I thought this was a private meeting.”

“He’s here to ensure that everything goes smoothy,” Nerdanel hastens to say, frowning. “But I don’t think we need your attendance, lord Nambamo.”

“Milady, I won’t leave you alone with that Úmaia,” the Maia called Nambamo answers in a stern voice.

 _That’s quite enough._ “I think I’m just leaving, then,” Mairon says and turns to go.

“No, no, please stop!” Nerdanel puts her hand on his arm, making him pause at the door. There’s almost a begging tone in her voice that Mairon suddenly finds quite pleasurable. Perhaps he could stay anyway, if only to annoy that jerk Namba-whatever.

“What is it?” he turns to look at Nerdanel. “That Maia bodyguard of yours clearly doesn’t want me to stay.”

“He’s not my bodyguard!” Nerdanel protests. “He is only here because lord Aulë thought that I would feel safer...”

“I feel safer if you’d send him away,” Mairon comments and grimaces at the stupid Maia. He jumps quickly aside as the Maia conjures a ball of fire from thin air and shoots it at him. “Ouch! Did you see? That was a near miss!”

“All right! Thank you, lord Nambamo, you can go now. I am pretty sure that Mairon won’t cause any trouble here. Isn’t that so, Mairon?” It definitely looks like Nerdanel is holding back a laugh.

“Yes ma’am, I’ll behave.”

Nambamo strongly opposes leaving Nerdanel alone with ‘that crooked spirit’, as he likes to call Mairon, but finally they reach a compromise. He’ll stay right behind the door, ready to enter if he sensed anything worrisome happening in the room. When he’s finally gone, Mairon lets himself relax.

“The Valar want to control everything,” he points out to Nerdanel. The lack of trust really irks him, but of course it’s to be expected.

She gives a sly smile. “That’s the way it is, you better get used to it unless you want to start a revolution.”

He’s liking this woman more and more. She’s already gone to her table to study the sculpture tools placed there and turned her back at him. _She really doesn’t fear me or loathe me_ , Mairon realizes, she’s an unusual elf. But of course, she’s Tyelpë’s grandmother.

“How’s Tyelperinquar?” The words escape his lips, and he almost regrets them at once. Shouldn’t he have left Tyelpë in peace by now? But he’s been thinking of him a lot lately, and the opportunity to ask about him is too good to miss.

Nerdanel turns now to look at him, and something flashes in her eyes, a feeling Mairon has difficulty in reading. “He’s doing fine,” Nerdanel finally says. “He has started a new life in Tirion, he has a job there.”

“Is he happy?” Mairon finds himself asking. He should change the subject already, but he can’t let it go. When Nerdanel nods Mairon feels a sense of relief.

“He’s been talking a lot about you,” Nerdanel comments bluntly, her words making Mairon wince. “Especially after he returned from that quest where you were taken into custody. Is it true that you took an oath that you’ll never harm him again?”

“Yes, it’s true.”

“That’s good... I hope. Oaths tend to backfire.”

“I had to do it. Tyelpë has something I once wanted, a ring. I don’t want to lead him into danger anymore.”

Nerdanel gives him a thorough look. Her knowing eyes make Mairon feel suddenly uncomfortable, but she doesn’t comment his dire words. Instead, she points out the platform where Mairon is supposed to stand while modelling for her. “Shall we begin?”

When she asks him to take his clothes off Mairon doesn’t hesitate; he’s not shy like the elves tend to be. His physical form is like a raiment, the one he’s chosen to wear and for which he is proud. He finds it alluring that Nerdanel wants to make a statue of his _fana_. He expects blushing or some other sign of coyness when he drops the rest of his clothes on the floor, but Nerdanel just gives one of those half-smiles he finds so difficult to interpret. Her eyes briefly glance at Mairon’s ankle band, a telltale mark of his captivity, but she doesn’t comment about it, either.

Nerdanel asks him to stand next to the marble column and promptly starts to make sketches of him. She’s totally concentrated on her work now; she only speaks to order him to change a pose every now and then. Mairon takes different standing poses according to her wishes. They continue for hours until the light from the windows has diminished and the evening has come. Mairon knows he’s a good life model; he doesn’t get weary, not even particularly cold although Nerdanel has reserved a simple robe for him to use for the occasional breaks when Nerdanel rests her hand.

“Is it okay for you to continue tomorrow morning?” Nerdanel asks when they have called it a day, and Mairon is dressing in his clothes again. “I’m staying at Aulë’s a couple of months and I’d like to make the most of it.”

“Of course. With pleasure.”

As Mairon exits the room, he is happy to notice that Aulë’s Maia looks very bored with his guarding duty, leaning against the wall beside the door.

“It took a long time,” the Maia grumbles at him as if it were his fault.

“She wants me to come back tomorrow,” Mairon announces and raises his chin. “It won’t be over for some time. Get used to it.”

* * * * *

The next day, Nerdanel starts to make a clay model of the statue she’s going to make. She has now decided on a pose she wants to use in her sculpture, and first she needs Mairon to pose for additional sketches. Later, she explains to Mairon, she can work without him being present, but in the early stages of sculpting his presence is needed to get the pose and the spirit of the statue right. Mairon has arrived early today. Now that he knows what to expect from their sessions, he doesn’t want to make Nerdanel wait. The Maia bodyguard arrives punctually. He doesn’t complain when Nerdanel orders him to stay outside; he even looks relieved. He probably thinks that seeing Morgoth’s lieutenant naked would instantly corrupt him.

Nerdanel has no such worries. It’s clear that she has worked with life models before. Mairon lets her guide him into the pose she’s chosen. He’s standing his chest slightly turned away from Nerdanel, one hand resting on the marble pillar, another arm raised, elbow bent. She has been happy to learn that he can stay still and keep his arm raised almost indefinitely without becoming tired. Bored, perhaps, but not tired. That’s a useful feature for a life model, she tells him.

“Can you change your looks?” she suddenly asks in the middle of a sketching session. She has been quiet for a long time, totally concentrated on her work. Mairon enjoys watching her from the corner of his eye.

“Not anymore,” he admits with sudden sadness. “I have lost many skills, and the Valar have taken some others away. Changing shape is one of them.”

“Did you look like this in Middle-earth?” Nerdanel seems genuinely interested.

“Not usually. I looked...fiercer, I guess. I had fire in my eyes and my movements were instant and more powerful. I sometimes was a wolf, or something like it. But when I lived in Ost-in-Edhil, I looked somewhat like this. Only my hair was of a lighter colour back then. Ost-in-Edhil is where Celebrimbor met me,” he explains, but when the pain of some nasty memory flashes in Nerdanel’s eyes he hopes that he hadn’t pointed that out.

“I know of Ost-in-Edhil”, she says, her voice suddenly weary. “First from other elves returning from Middle-earth, then from Tyelperinquar himself.”

Mairon stops posing and dresses in the robes although he doesn’t feel cold. It’s a discussion he doesn’t want to continue naked under her scrutinizing eye.

“I’m sorry, lady Nerdanel,” he says. “Tyelperinquar didn’t deserve any of it. He was the closest thing to a friend I ever had. But -”

“Don’t say more!” Nerdanel almost shouts the words, raising her hand. “I think it’s best that we finish the modelling session for today. Go now.” Mairon starts to say something, but he can’t find the right words. He can feel Nerdanel’s growing distress. “Please, go before Nambamo senses something and breaks in,” she pleads.

Mairon dresses quickly, he doesn’t want the Maia-bodyguard there. “Shall I come again tomorrow?” he asks from the door, already fearing that she’ll refuse to continue working with him.

But she says: “Yes.” Her voice is no more than a whisper, but it’s a clear yes.

* * * * *

“How long did you know each other, Tyelperinquar and you?”

Nerdanel has clearly continued thinking about Ost-in Edhil after yesterday’s interrupted session. She feels resolute, but not distressed like yesterday. Mairon doesn’t dare to look at her in the eyes; thankfully his posture makes it easy for him to look slightly past her.

“A couple of hundred years.”

“And did you plan destroying his life all that time?” Nerdanel’s voice is cold but not wavering. She’s a strong woman.

Mairon remembers the day when he arrived in Ost-in-Edhil and met Celebrimbor the first time. The thought of deceiving Nelyafinwë’s nephew had given him sick pleasure. That was before they became something like friends. “No, not all the time,” he says. “For a time, I forgot everything else. We became friends, I think. Or perhaps something more. I don’t have words for it. I wanted to spend time with him, and I missed him when he wasn’t near me. I craved for his touch.”

“Some call it love,” Nerdanel comments. She’s working with the clay as she speaks, hitting it hard against the table to make the piece of clay soften.

“Perhaps. But it got tainted with something. An obsession. A desire for power. You know how it ended.”

“The way he talks about you,” Nerdanel continues, “I don’t think it has really ended yet.”

Is her voice accusing? Loathing? Mairon senses only sadness in her tone, and perhaps a sense of fatality.

“Don’t betray him this time,” she says.

“I won’t.”

They take a break, and Mairon studies the bulk of clay Nerdanel has been working with.

“There’s still a lot to be done before that piece resembles me.”

“I know. We need to continue tomorrow. Will you come?”

He comes the next day, and the day after. After a week, most people in Aulë’s Halls know that Nerdanel is making a statue of Mairon, the fallen Maia. Even Curumo has heard about it. He claims that it’s common gossip in the halls that Nerdanel has finally lost her mind. When Mairon tells Nerdanel about it, she gives a mirthless laugh.

“I may have a certain reputation for living a bohemian lifestyle, but that’s too much! I believe there are many people around who would like to see you in Mandos instead of posing for me. As if Námo hadn’t enough subjects to torment there already!”

“Like your husband?”

“Yes, like my husband whom he won’t let go. It’s not fair.” She hesitates. “Do you think my words are disrespectful?”

She looks unsure, eyes wide, Mairon can see fear creeping over her. She probably hasn’t openly criticized the Valar before, and the harsh words that just escaped her mouth seem to greatly disturb her. Mairon knows how frightening it feels to speak against the ultimate powers for the first time; he’s been there, too, back when he was known as Aulendil. But he only says: “Are you really asking me this?”

Nerdanel gives a nervous laugh and says no more. She continues to work with the clay model that has started to resemble Mairon’s pose, and for a long while they both stay silent, absorbed in their thoughts.

Then suddenly: “Were you there when my husband fell?” There’s pain in her eyes; she fears for his answer. But for once, Mairon can give her an answer that doesn’t make her feel worse.

“I wasn’t there when it happened.” It had been a chaotic time. Melkor had finally come back, but the Silmarils had burned his hand and he was in constant pain. Mairon hadn’t wanted to leave his side, not even when the scouts had sent word that a host of hostile elves had followed Melkor from the West and the battle was inevitable. He never even saw Fëanor except later when he invaded Nelyafinwë’s mind, but Gothmog told him that the elven-king had been fierce.

“Good,” Nerdanel says. “That makes things easier.”

 _When are you going to ask me about Nelyafinwë?_ he thinks. Mairon has started to have dreams about Nerdanel’s red-headed son, only sometimes there is Nerdanel instead of Nelyafinwë in those dreams. Why does she have to look so much like him? Why has she cut her hair? He doesn’t dare to ask her if it’s intentional.

* * * * *

Finally, the clay model is finished and Nerdanel starts to work with the marble block. Now that she has the clay model Mairon is not really needed in the studio anymore, or at least not every day, but week after week he keeps coming, and Nerdanel doesn’t seem to mind. The Maia bodyguard never leaves them, but thankfully he always stays behind the door. Mairon never gets bored watching her sculpting; it’s like watching Tyelpë at work back in Eregion.

That day Nerdanel carves Mairon’s facial features from the marble piece she’s working with. She often takes a look at Mairon who sits on the chair, head slightly turned away, as she wants to compare his face with that of the sculpture.

“You look sad,” she suddenly comments, slightly startling Mairon who has been lost in thought.

“Do I?” Mairon wants to leave it at that, but then a thought arises that if anyone, Nerdanel could understand what he’s currently feeling.

“I was thinking of my Master. They put Melkor in the Void,” he says, “and told me I won’t see him until the end. It’s sometimes too much to bear. He...” Mairon closes his mouth, he’s already talked too much. The elves loathe Melkor, they’re only happy he’s in the Void. Nerdanel has every reason to hate Melkor – and him, he knows. Oddly, she doesn’t seem to hate him as much as he would have guessed.

“You miss him,” Nerdanel says, her voice mushy and thick. She rubs her nose. “Like I miss Fëanáro, my flame.”

“Yes. I miss my flame, too,” Mairon all but whispers. “It’s such a cruel punishment, to keep them locked away. If I could do something about it, I would.”

There’s an odd glimmer in Nerdanel’s eyes now. “Me, too,” she says. “If it was possible, I would walk to Mandos and bring my husband back. And everyone Námo keeps there over their meant time. The doom of the Valar is harsh indeed! Poor Ambarussa... and Maitimo.”

The name hits Mairon like a hammer; ancient memories are awakened once more. Nelyafinwë Maitimo should have been just another captured elf, a self-proclaimed king, perhaps, but those titles meant nothing in Angband. However, it turned out that he wouldn’t break easily. Special methods were needed and Mairon was the one who mastered them. Perhaps that’s why the elf became such a dangerous enemy later. In the wars that followed, so much of Angband’s military strategy had concentrated on destroying his morale. It is ironic that in the end the elf finished the job himself.

Her words are an acute reminder of the distress he feels at night when he wakes up from a nightmare Irmo has sent him. Memories of Nelyafinwë have started to haunt Mairon, and it must be because of Nerdanel; she looks too much like him. Now she stares at him eyes widened in growing horror. She knows she has mentioned the forbidden name and will pay for her insolence.

Mairon finds himself very close to Nerdanel; he hasn’t noticed how he moved there; he must have done that instinctively. The chisel she has been holding drops on the floor. There’s fear in her eyes as she tries to withdraw from his touch, but he doesn’t let her go. One of his hands grips her arm, another runs through her hair. And as he has guessed, it feels just like Nelyafinwë’s.

“Why did you cut your hair?” he hisses at her accusingly. His hand tugs slightly a lock of copper-red hair behind her ear, and she winces. “You look just like him. I don’t like it.”

“Mairon, no,” she whispers, but that only makes him more irritated. Her voice is different, but the pleading tone is all too similar. There’s something fiery growing inside him; he can barely control it now.

“Did you cut your hair to remind me of him?” he demands, and now he can’t control the fiery outburst anymore. His ankle band burns as his fire infiltrates into it. Not even Aulë’s magic is able to contain all of it, though, and behind him the curtains burst into fire.

Suddenly someone is pulling him away from her, strong arms are holding him. He struggles a while before he comes to his senses and remembers that it won’t do him any good to resist. It’s Nerdanel’s bodyguard, of course, and it seems that he is finally needed. Mairon sinks to his knees beside the marble block, defeated. Nerdanel’s eyes move from him to the burning curtains; she slowly shakes her head, looking forlorn.

The bodyguard Maia doesn’t let Mairon go, and he must have silently called for help. A couple of other Maiar promptly arrive on the scene; without hesitating they put out the blaze with their song. Mairon’s head hurts.

“You will leave at once,” the bodyguard announces and pushes Mairon towards the door. He knows he’s right, he should leave now, but he turns to look at Nerdanel anyway. Her cheeks are glowing, there’s pain in her eyes. Mairon starts to understand that this time, he’s the cause of it.

“Yes, it’s better you’ll leave now, Mairon,” she confirms, and he nods. The half-finished marble statue stares at him as the Maiar march him away before he causes more destruction.

Later, Mairon hears from Aulë that Nerdanel has left for the time being. Aulë doesn’t send him to Námo for his behaviour. He tells Mairon that outbursts like that are only expected, but he must learn to control them if he wants to live in Valinor. Mairon doesn’t believe that Nerdanel will come back to finish the sculpture. He remembers his hand in her hair, and the violent grip on her arm, and how she quivered with fear she badly tried to hide.

Aulë still lets him walk around, although many of the elves have protested. The word has spread that he has attacked Nerdanel and set the house on fire. It sounds worse that way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon is hoping for Nerdanel to come back. Her appearance has evoked memories from Mairon's past, memories he needs to confront if he wants to go on. But Nerdanel, too, has to confront him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed this fic's rating to E just to be sure. The E-rated content is in the beginning of this chapter, the part that starts _Angband, ca7150 years ago_. It's a flashback scene about Maedhros not having a good time there, and it has a warning of non-con explicit sexual content, humiliation and blood. If you want to skip that part, start reading from the part that begins _The present time_. I promise that the story will become less angsty in the end.

_Angband, ca7150 years ago_

An unhappy elf sits on Melkor’s lap when Mairon arrives at the throne room. The sight is not unusual; after his return, Melkor is often accompanied by a slave or two to amuse himself, or perhaps that works as a distraction from the pain in his burned hand. It’s more unusual that the said elf wears a coronet of pure gold and other beautiful jewellery. It’s a masterwork, and suddenly Mairon understands who the red-headed elf must be. He has heard of the captured elf king.

Mairon doesn’t say anything, however, but swiftly kneels before Melkor on the cold stone floor. It’s wonderful to have him back – but he can’t ignore the fact that something is changed between them. His Master hardly seems to notice him. His mind has been occupied by the Silmarils, and now by this elf, one of those who followed him in hot pursuit from the West. Mairon has only seen the elf’s welt-marked back, and he’s hating it already.

The elf sits astride, facing Melkor and the Silmarils he’s wearing in his crown. The jewels are so close and yet beyond its reach. Its naked skin bears marks of previous mishandlings. The elf is tall, but compared to the mighty Vala it doesn’t look tall. The iron collar on its neck prevents the elf from lowering its head, and the elf is forced to look at the Silmarils on Melkor’s brow unless it wants to meet the eyes of its captor. Mairon is sure it doesn’t want to, not at this point. Its hands are cuffed behind its back, and its docile behaviour tells Mairon that the elf is already done resisting.

“Yes, Mairon, this is prince Nelyafinwë,” Melkor says aloud. The words are meant for the elf to hear as well. “Or is it king Nelyafinwë now?” Now the elf tries to struggle, but Melkor pushes it back down, and the elf tenses and moans. Only now Mairon realizes that the elf is sitting there impaled by Melkor’s cock. A pretty sight. Melkor won’t let the elf go before he’s finished with it, and Mairon knows from experience that the Vala won’t let that happen too soon.

Melkor’s eyes invite Mairon to proceed and he takes some careful steps towards the throne. He’s curious about his Master’s new pet, and besides, he craves for his master’s touch. But Melkor’s hands are elsewhere. One of them is running down the elf’s tied arms, a soft caressing movement, but the elf doesn’t seem to appreciate the tenderness of the Vala’s touch. The long fingers of Melkor’s other hand are currently studying the elf’s mouth that is forced to remain open with the help of a metal ring gag. Now Mairon sees a drop of blood on Melkor’s fingertip, and there’s a sudden stab of jealousy as Melkor gently feeds some of his mighty blood to the worthless elf.

The stupid elf clearly doesn’t understand what a special favour that is. It tries to spit the taste of blood out in a frenzied struggle, but its mouth gag doesn’t allow it to do it. There are tears in the elf’s eyes as it finally swallows, and it serves it right. Melkor smiles at the elf lazily, showing his teeth.

“Master...” Mairon interrupts them. “Let me taste you, too.” He reaches for Melkor’s hand, trying to guide his Master’s fingers into his own mouth, but he’s not allowed.

“Not now, Mairon.” His Master’s voice is strict and although he feels frustrated, he knows better than to object. His Master continues to caress the elf. “Look, how his body is trembling. Not so proud anymore, son of Fëanor! What are you waiting for, make me come!”

The elf whimpers, but it starts obediently moving its hips when Melkor’s grip on its throat strengthens.

“You will ride him until he comes inside you,” Mairon commands the elf who still seems to believe it’ll somehow escape its fate. “He won’t let you go before. Go on, move.”

Melkor leans back and enjoys the now desperate elf riding on his cock. It’s not an easy task. Mairon takes care that the elf doesn’t wiggle away, but continues to move its hips in a way that pleases his Master. Melkor has disrobed himself and opened his breeches, his bare chest is partly covered by his long black hair. Oh, how Mairon would like to touch that silky hair, but he doesn’t dare to. Melkor moans slightly as his pet elf fucks him. The whimpers of the elf are delicious, and his Master seems to like it, almost too much. Mairon is hard and neglected. There are droplets of sweat on his Master’s chest. He shuts his deep black eyes as he comes inside the elf. How Mairon wishes to be in its place now.

Afterwards, when Melkor has finally got bored with the elf king, he gives it to Mairon to play with. There will be no kindness, no beauty left when he is finished.

* * * * *

_The present time_

Nerdanel’s appearance has evoked memories of Nelyafinwë, and her disappearance even more so. Mairon’s thoughts are in the distant past when he was a part of Angband and Angband a part of him. He had never lived among the elves back then, not like Melkor did in Valinor. Mairon wasn’t civilized, or if he once had been, he had unlearned it. Not civilized, and rather jealous of his Master’s attention; it didn’t bode well for that pitiful elf.

When Mairon met elves for the first time, he thought them fascinating, an object of his study. Later, he saw their usefulness as slaves. But the Noldor that had followed his Master from the West were of a different kind. They dared to wage war against Melkor. He hated them passionately, and this captured elf king he hated the most.

When did he start thinking about elves as beings rather than things or resources? It must have been Nelyafinwë that taught him the first lesson although Mairon could never have admitted it back then. Stubbornly, he refused to think the elf king as a person although his attempt to break him soon became quite personal. “It”, he had called the elf in his mind even after his Master had taken his plaything away from his clutches. “That accursed Fëanorian”, he later called the lord of Himring when he had proved to be a worthy enemy.

The ultimate irony is that when he met Celebrimbor, they eventually became friends. Gorthaur the Cruel, friending an elf! Perhaps he was becoming civilized? (Not enough to save Celebrimbor, though.)

He’s hoping for Nerdanel to come back. Let her look like Nelyafinwë; she’s not him, after all. Mairon can’t change the past, but he can try to outlive it.

* * * * *

The elves are celebrating in the garden under the starry sky. Countless lanterns are lit, hanging from the trees. A cheerful melody meets Mairon at his lonely vantage point on the roof. It’s one of their seasonal festivals; Mairon is not sure which one, he’s lost the sense of seasons but he doesn’t care. He enjoys the music, though, catchy tunes of the musicians, and he slowly creeps towards the other side of the roof where the melody is better heard. In the darkness of the night, no one should see him there; and he won’t disturb them, he just wants to look.

Surrounded by the trees, a group of elves dance together, barefoot and wild. The music has no words but their laughter and occasional shouts, but there’s a rhythm that feels thrilling and inviting. It calls Mairon to join their wild dance although he knows he should just ignore its call.

Until he sees a familiar copper-red hair in the crowd and hears the laughter of Nerdanel. She has come back!

Mairon recognizes that it’s one of those elf dances Tyelpë insisted teaching him during their Eregion days. To this date, Mairon has seen their dance lessons quite a redundant information of elf culture, but now he sends a silent thank-you to Tyelpë because he knows how to dance this one.

As fast as possible, he climbs down the ladder and hastens towards the commotion, not quite running so that he won’t scare the elves. He hopes the dance won’t be over before he gets there.

It isn’t. The music goes on and on, never-ending. He remembers that dances like this can continue until everyone is totally exhausted and laughing. It’s a happy dance, unlike many others he knows. They dance in a big circle, holding hands and stepping left and right in a certain way. Mairon remembers the steps so well now. In a frenzy of excitement no one seems to recognize him as he quickly takes his place in the circle next to Nerdanel. Her hand is warm and moist when he takes it in his. The elf next to her frowns to him a little as he breaks the circle, but he doesn’t recognize him yet. The dance goes on, and Mairon tries to subdue his Maia-spirit as much as he can. This way, he can pass for an elf for a short time, he hopes. His feet find the right steps easily, and for a while he just enjoys music and dances with others.

But the mood of the crowd is suddenly changing. Outside the circle, a masked figure stands. Mairon can’t see his face, but he knows the story of this particular elf too well. Curumo has told him about the escaped Angband prisoner who works at the forge. He always wears a mask to cover the horrible burns on his face. Some say they are caused by dragon breath, but no one knows for sure.

Although Mairon can’t see the masked figure’s face, he feels his eyes fixed on him. He must have recognized Mairon, for there’s certain hostility radiating from him, and other, more obscure feelings as well. Boldness? Recklessness? He fears the elf will soon alert them all, forcing him away before he has got his chance of talking to Nerdanel. _That’s why I joined the dance in the first place, wasn’t it?_

So he decides to reveal himself and quickly turns to whisper in Nerdanel’s ear: “You’re back. Are you going to finish the sculpture?”

Nerdanel’s feet lose the rhythm and she stumbles, her grasp on Mairon’s hand stiffens as she tries to keep her balance. Someone shouts something, and the music ends abruptly, but Mairon doesn’t care. His attention is firmly focused on Nerdanel now. He gives a faint smile that is hopefully seen as apologetic and waits for her answer. Nerdanel stays frozen to the spot. He meets her gaze, raising his eyebrow when she still doesn’t say a word. Mairon notices that they are still holding hands although the circle is otherwise broken.

“Nerdanel?” he whispers. Someone is shouting, someone is trying to drag him away. He doesn’t allow them to do it, but he lets go of Nerdanel’s hand and that seems to soothe the crowd a little. From the corner of his eye he notices that the elf with the metal face mask has vanished.

“Yes, I’m back,” she finally says, and an odd sense of relief floods over Mairon. “I have work to do,” she continues.

“I’m sorry that I lost my temper,” Mairon says in a low voice. This should be a private conversation, he thinks, not meant to be discussed surrounded by a crowd of angry elves. But he fears he’ll never get a better opportunity, so he promptly kneels in front of Nerdanel. “Forgive me, ma’am.”

Nerdanel’s eyes are intense and bright as she studies him, looking for deceit and falsehood. Mairon knows she won’t find them there, not now. After a long time that feels like infinity, she makes an approving nod and signs him to rise to his feet again.

“Come to my studio after the morning bell tomorrow,” she orders him strictly, “and we’ll continue then.”

* * * * *

Nerdanel is drawing something when Mairon enters the room. She’s so concentrated that she only lifts her head from the paper when her bodyguards command Mairon to stop before he gets a good look at whatever she’s drawing. 

“Stop right there,” they say to Mairon. “Don’t move closer unless she asks.”

There are indeed two bodyguards now, Namba-something and his Maia-friend who eyes Mairon with unmistakable loathing.

Nerdanel, however, gives him an encouraging smile. “Good to see you here, Mairon.” She turns to address the bodyguards: “Can you please leave us now? You can wait outside like before.”

“But Milady, is that wise? After the last time...” Her irritated gesture makes the Maia stop. “All right, if you insist, but we can’t guarantee your safety...”

Nerdanel sighs. “Please, just go. It’s going to be all right. I’m sure nothing like that will ever happen again.” After a pregnant pause, the Maiar leave the room, and Mairon is finally alone with Nerdanel.

“How can you be so sure?” he needs to ask. “Sure that nothing like the last time ever happens, I mean.”

Their eyes meet, and for some reason Mairon can’t lower his gaze. “I’m not sure,” Nerdanel says, “I just have to trust in you, and hope that you won’t betray my trust.”

Her words provoke a sudden pang of conscience. “You sound just like Celebrimbor,” he comments.

Nerdanel is not amused. “Be quiet, I want to finish this drawing! Just give me a little more time, then we can continue with the sculpture.”

“Shall I sit here? I won’t be too close to you here, will I?”

“No, that’s a good place. I don’t want you to see this until it’s finished.”

Mairon sits on the chair, legs crossed, and watches her drawing. Every now and then, she dips her pen into the ink bottle before continuing to draw lines. It seems she has memorized the picture that she now draws from imagination. Her hand hides the drawing from Mairon, making him curious. He hasn’t seen her doing an ink drawing before, so why now?

Her words about trust don’t leave him in peace. She has few reasons to trust him, but still she claims that’s the only way for their relationship to work. Come to think of it, he has started to trust her as well. Now he doesn’t see her every act as a possible revenge. Actually, he finds her fascinating.

“I think it’s finished now,” Nerdanel says after a while, and Mairon comes to look before she even asks. She leans back on her stool, and her sudden grin is almost mischievous. “What do you think?”

Mairon can’t take his eyes from the paper. He sees at once that it’s a portrait of Melkor, although his Master looks in it more elflike and somehow younger than he remembers him. Even his portrait radiates power Mairon finds difficult to resist. This must be how Melkor looked like when he lived in Valinor.

“Oh,” he says, for once totally speechless.

“So it looks like him?” Nerdanel tilts her head and looks at him warily like she was waiting for a judgment of an art critic.

“Yes, very much,” Mairon manages to say. He has no pictures of his Master, no memorials; things like that didn’t feel necessary before. Why should he have needed a memorial of a being that is immortal? Only too late he learned that ‘immortal’ doesn’t mean the same thing as ‘being always there’.

“Good. It’s said that the elves don’t easily forget, and it was an unforgettable meeting anyway,” Nerdanel says in a low voice. “Moringotto visited our home one day,” she continues, and although Mairon internally winces when she uses that mock name, he doesn’t interrupt her as she tells the story about Melkor who wanted to meet Fëanor, but met Nerdanel and Maitimo instead. “I think my husband was an obsession with him,” Nerdanel says, her eyes full of sadness. “As were the Silmarils. And I’m afraid, also my son...”

She’s talking about Nelyafinwë, Mairon realizes. _If she knew all what I have done to him, she wouldn’t tolerate me in the same room._

“You have that look again.” Nerdanel tenses, but her eyes never left Mairon’s as she continues: “It always appears there when I speak about my son Maitimo.”

Darkness rushes into his mind. It takes all his effort to keep still, not reacting to its destructive call. But for Nerdanel’s sake, he must keep his aggression under control. He doesn’t dare to speak for he fears that he’d say something that frightens Nerdanel.

But Nerdanel continues, fiddling with her drawing as she talks. “I didn’t know what happened to any of them, at first. The news took a long time to reach us from Middle-earth. I begged Námo to tell me if they were still alive. One day, his Maia arrived at my door and announced that Mandos has my Fëanáro, and yes, by the way, your youngest son as well. Then I cried because I’d known it would come to this. But about Maitimo’s fate I learned only much later. How he was captured, and rescued, and what happened afterwards. He must have been treated very badly when he was Moringotto’s prisoner, wasn’t he?”

Mairon forces himself to answer: “He was.” He can’t control the trembling of his body; odd emotions fill him, and he fights the impulse to force Nerdanel to shut her mouth. Distantly, he can feel the growing nervousness of the Maiar outside the door. They, too, can sense his distress.

“Your bodyguards will rush in soon,” he manages to comment to Nerdanel. “They fear I’m going to hurt you again.”

Nerdanel’s eyes are hardened. “And are you?”

“No.” And only now Mairon knows it’s true. He takes a deep breath in and out before continuing: “I tortured him. I broke him. See, I admitted it, are you happy now?”

“I know.” Her voice is tiny and full of sadness of the elves, yearning for the early days of bliss that are just a sweet memory now. “But it’s good to hear you admit that.”

“I think it’s better that we continue another day,” Mairon says quickly and readies himself for leaving. He’s not sure if he can control his emotions for much longer.

“I think you’re right,” Nerdanel says after a pause. “Just one more thing. I didn’t cut my hair short to remind you of my son. It’s just practical; short hair doesn’t get in the way when I’m doing art. Not everything is focused on you, Mairon.”

He bows his head when he hears her sobering words. The drawing lies still on the table, almost forgotten. He takes it in his hand. “Can I have this?”

“Oh, that,” she says wearily. “Why not. I would probably tear it into pieces later.”

“Thank you, Nerdanel.”

The following morning, Mairon returns to find Nerdanel sculpting and she welcomes him just like before. They don’t speak much, and when Nerdanel asks him to pose for her again so that she can get some details of the torso right he is happy to undress for her.

He keeps visiting her studio. On those days when Nerdanel doesn’t need him posing, he is content to watch her work, like he watched Celebrimbor crafting before. There’s a similar light in her eyes when she creates art.

Little by little, the sculpture starts to resemble someone, and then a day comes when he starts seeing his own features in it. Nerdanel works patiently with chisel and hammer, she seems to know exactly where to take off marble and where to leave it.

“You know, people have made statues of me before,” Mairon can’t resist commenting one day. “The Men of Middle-Earth saw me as their holy sovereign. The statues they made were mostly bronze, though, decorated with gold.”

Nerdanel gives a short, amused laugh. “Those must have been your days of glory. Now you have to make do with being an art project of a bitter old lady.”

There is a new tone in her voice, more sincere than before. “I don’t think you’re bitter, Nerdanel.”

“Am I not? Perhaps I just hide it well. My partner is not allowed to return from the Halls of Mandos because of some obscure prophecy. Námo has three of my sons, too, and one is probably faded, they tell me. My family has been cursed by the Valar. A life like this can feel a struggle sometimes, but I want to believe that I’ll see Fëanáro again one day, and all of my sons as well.”

Mairon can feel Nerdanel’s longing as she speaks. Her words awake something in his own heart. Like Fëanáro, also Melkor can only return in the end of the world, so have the Valar decided. “I know how you’re feeling,” he says in a muted voice. “I miss Melkor, too.”

She lets out a weak sigh, then she takes her tools and continues sculpting without speaking further.

* * * * *

One day Mairon is sitting in Nerdanel’s studio when he feels the change in the atmosphere. It’s oddly quiet. It takes a moment before he realizes that the constant sound of sandpaper that Nerdanel uses to polish the marble has stopped. Nerdanel looks at him a piece of sandpaper in hand, eyes widened.

“It’s complete,” she says at last.

Mairon glances at the sculpture. It looks pretty much the same as the previous day unless a little more glowing. He recognizes himself, and is even pretty much flattered that her view of him is so admirable. But Nerdanel’s words still come as a surprise to him.

“Complete? How can you tell?”

“Come and look closely, and tell me what you see.”

There’s an odd tone in her voice, as if she was a bit out of breath even though the polishing work hasn’t been that physical. Her short hair is slightly ruffled, but she doesn’t seem to care. Mairon comes to stand beside her, measuring her work.

“Can’t you feel it?” Nerdanel asks.

At first, he doesn’t understand what she’s talking about, but then everything falls into place and he can feel the eerie connection between himself and the statue of him. It’s like there was a thin layer of his essence attached to the smooth marble surface, making it glimmer in the daylight like his skin sometimes does. Somehow, he knows that if Nerdanel used her tools still another time, the emerged spirit of the statue would vanish just like that.

“I feel it now,” Mairon says, his fingers gently brushing marble. “Impressive. How do you do it?”

Nerdanel shrugs. “I don’t know, I can’t explain it. It’s part of my work, part of the creation of the object. It just appears there when the time is right. Fëanor tried to explain it to me, but his theory always felt needlessly complicated. I’m happy to think that it just happens when I create art.”

“It’s amazing.”

It’s weird to see himself as Nerdanel’s sculpture. The statue looks so pure, something like Eönwë without wings. He knows that bronze would have captured his fire better, but he’s secretly relieved that Nerdanel didn’t make his statue full of fire or otherwise evil-looking.

“What are you going to do with it?” he has to ask, though. He can’t imagine his statue being publicly shown to the elves of Aman. Will it stay in this workroom where elves can safely come and see him to satisfy their curiosity? Sooner or later someone will surely paint curse marks on it, but that’s hardly avoided.

Nerdanel doesn’t answer at once. She has been twisting the sandpaper in her hand, but now she puts it down on the table, taking a hammer in a firm grip instead. Mairon could have sworn that the brightness of her face and eyes suddenly intensified. She looks brave like the elven warriors of old, and Mairon feels suddenly cold. He wonders if he should just flee now.

“No, you don’t deserve to exist,” she says to the sculpture in a cold voice and swings her arm holding the hammer. “This is for Maitimo.” Her first strike hits the marble torso, and Mairon bends double in pain. No, not pain, exactly, it feels like she had hit his spirit with her hammer. Next to him, the marble surface cracks, and then Nerdanel strikes again. “And this is for Tyelpë.” Mairon cries out and drops onto the floor. But she has just begun.

“For Findaráto!” she shouts and her hit makes one of the arms of the statue fall off. Mairon trembles on the floor as she continues to hammer his essence through the medium of the statue.

“And for Findekáno!” Her short haircut has got messy and there’s a wild look in her eyes. Her attack has left Mairon almost paralyzed by now. If he gathered all his willpower he could perhaps get up and lunge at Nerdanel, make her stop. But it would be unwise. I would look like he attacked her and not the other way. And deep inside, he knows that he deserves it.

Nerdanel continues breaking the statue, shouting and swearing. Large chunks of marble fall off. The door is opened and her bodyguards rush in alerted by the ruckus. They soon realize that she doesn’t need saving. The Maiar pointedly ignore Mairon who is squirming on the floor. So be it, Mairon thinks. Let Nerdanel vent her wrath on the statue, then. Her strikes bring tears in his eyes, but it’s okay. Tyelpë had it worse anyway.

Finally she stops. The hammer drops from her hand and she falls silent, breathing heavily. A nervous laugh escapes her mouth as she turns to look Mairon who is quickly getting up now that he can move again. He doesn’t want to show his vulnerability in front of the Maia-guards. They are already closing in, ready to subdue him in case he’s going to attack Nerdanel.

He raises his hands so that they can see he’s still quite harmless, and grimaces at Nerdanel. “That was a weird kind of beating indeed.”

“What happened?” The Maiar look a bit confused by the scene. “Did he threaten you, Milady?" They eye Mairon suspiciously; he flashes them a smile that makes them lower their gaze.

“No, he didn’t.” Nerdanel’s voice sounds husky. “This is just... artistic passion. I didn’t like it after all.” The statue is destroyed beyond repair. Pieces of marble are lying all over the floor. Months of work, and then it’s just gone. But in his heart, he knows why Nerdanel had to do it. Mairon is the only one who had a chance to see it finished. He feels privileged.

“Can you please leave us alone,” Nerdanel asks the bodyguards. She’s perfectly composed now, and there are no traces of hatred in her as far as Mairon can tell. He could flee now, but he’s curious.

The bodyguards grumpily leave, and for a long moment Mairon and Nerdanel just stare at each other, her grey eyes reflecting the tree-light from long ago. Mairon’s muscles are still tense; he doesn’t dare to move.

“I guess I deserved that,” he finally says.

Nerdanel chuckles. “I acted by instinct,” she admits. “I saw your being woven into the marble and I felt... for a while I just wanted revenge...”

Mairon nods. “I can’t say that we’re even, but I’d be happy if you wouldn’t hit me anymore.”

“I can try,” Nerdanel says and sits down on a chair. She looks exhausted. “Well, I couldn’t have taken that statue home anyway. What would my sons have said? Maitimo... when he returns...” Her voice breaks, and she hides her face in her hands. Her shoulders shudder, and Mairon realizes that she’s crying.

Very carefully, trying not to scare her, he moves closer and puts a hand on her trembling shoulder. “I’m sorry, Nerdanel. Forgive me for the pain and sorrow I have caused.”

He has thought that those words would be more difficult to say, but Nerdanel’s outburst was a cathartic experience. “Please tell Tyelpë that I said so.”

Nerdanel raises her head; her eyes are red and swollen. “You can tell him yourself.” She fumbles in a pocket of her work coat, finally taking out a sealed envelope. Mairon’s heart leaps with excitement as he recognizes his name on it with Celebrimbor’s elegant handwriting.

“When he learned that I’m making a statue of you, he insisted that I give you this letter when I return. I didn’t tell him that you almost attacked me. I wasn’t sure if I could return, but in the end I did. Still, I wondered if I should just burn that letter. Until now. You are different from what I’ve thought. And if Tyelpë wants to write to you, who am I to forbid him? You are not in Mandos, and so he can contact you; it’s a precious chance and it should not be wasted. I wish I could write to my Fëanáro.

Mairon takes the offered letter from her. “Thank you,” he says is a low voice.

“Don’t hurt him ever again.”

“I won’t,” he says, and he this time he knows it will be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I always love kudos and comments!
> 
> Now that Mairon practically got a permission from Nerdanel to court Celebrimbor, I'm going to continue this series with a multi-chaptered fic about their developing relationship in this new era.
> 
> When Nerdanel was drawing a picture of Melkor, she remembers the events that are described in [Uninvited Guest.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27249097)


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